Living his Dream
by NikNakPaddyWaKGiveTheDocABoner
Summary: The Doctor, older now, is given a glimpse of the life he could never have.


Note de l'author: Okay I havn't written anything in FOREVER and this hasn't been beta'd, so please leave a comment. I'd liek to know how to improve

Summary: Just a one-shot set after Journey's end so SPOLIERS if you havn't gone through the mending and breaking of your shippy heart **at the same time**

Disclaimer: Babe, if I owned it I would have a nice New!Ten all for myself.

Living his Dream

Despite that he, in all his plus thousand years, had never been in here before, the bedroom had a familiar feel. The atmosphere was so comfortable that he felt uneasy. Strange that. He turned back to the TARDIS and raised a quizzical eyebrow. The old girl liked to become the self-designated driver now and again but it was ever so unusual for her to take him to a bedroom. A child's bedroom at that.

A pale sliver of moonlight shone through a gap in the star patterned curtains and fell onto the soft, carpeted floor. The floor was littered with paper and crayons, works of art in progress which, the Doctor presumed, would join the countless scrawls tacked up on the walls. There was a chest of drawers on which sat plastic dinosaurs, spacemen and model cars.

A small bed sat in the corner of the room, across from the window. The covers, kicked to the foot of the mattress, were adorned with pictures of stars and basic rocket ships. The bed's occupant was a small boy. He lay curled up and in his tiny arms he clutched a purple monster with big, orange spots. The child's dark hair was an unruly mess and that, again, struck a chord of familiarity in the Doctor. He walked over to the bed, looked down at the sleeping features of the small boy and seized with some sort of paternal instinct he bent to pull the covers back on. He finished tucking the child in and straightened up, he could feel his back strain with the effort. Not a good sign.

It was at that moment that something clicked rather loudly behind him. This click was followed by the creaking of the TARDIS doors. The Doctor didn't turn around. Another click and a creak and the doors were shut. Still, the Doctor did not turn. Instead he kept his eyes focused on the sleeping child before. Of course he recognized him.

"Thank you."

It was his voice that spoke, yet it was a voice he had not heard in well over a century.

"How?"

There were a lot of 'hows' that needed to be addressed, and perhaps some who, whats, where and whens, too. It seemed, however, that these questions weren't going to be answered, at least not directly. He did have a tendency to do that.

"I'd always wanted this, even if I laughed at it sometimes, doors and carpets, I always wanted it even though it was the one thing I could never have."

"That changed though." The Doctor answered, somewhat bitter.

I could show you. Right now I could show you these past four years but I know me and so I know your foundations. I know it would hurt."

The Doctor said nothing and so the 'voice' continued.

"She helped, in fact she did more than that. You know what she did."

"Yes."

"That day, that moment, on the beach. She realized who I was. That I _was_ you. Completely you. Minus the heart I was an exact copy and more. I had done all those same things because I had been a part of you."

"Your hand had done a little less."

"Ah but, it was a handy hand."

The Doctor imagined the man behind him was waving the said hand in a gleeful manner. He smiled.

"Thank you, again. And you could say it's self-centered but again it isn't. I'm sorry."

"I know."

The Doctor heard the man, his past self and clone, approach him. He felt something cold and metal be pushed into his hand and then his new, old self retreated back to the door frame.

"If you want to," said the voice, so much younger than his own, " if a time comes when you want to, you can put that around your neck. I'm not the only copy here and stored on that key is everything that is and, as long as we keep our key, everything that will be. I don't think you will though, but the option is there. It's nice to have a choice sometimes."

"Not always."

"True."

With that the copy of his tenth self left. He would be going back to Rose no doubt.

The Doctor looked down at the sleeping boy who, despite certain factors, was his son. He sighed, it was almost difficult to accept it all. Perhaps he couldn't. Clutching the copy of Rose's old TARDIS key he turned away from the bed. Something caught his attention. The pictures on the wall were of the three of them. His son, Rose, and himself. In some of them, Rose seemed to be rather fat for a sick figure and crude arrows was drawn with the words 'My sister, Hope.' scribbled above. He was going to have a daughter.

With one last sweep of the room the Doctor clicked his fingers and stepped back into the TARDIS. He pocketed the key, wondering if he's ever want to see more than the pictures had told him. He went over to the console, his mind a whirlwind of emotion. The Doctor pushed down on the many switches and flicked the levers and with the sound of the universe, he left behind the life, the dream, that _he _could never have.

* * *

Have you seen the confidential? Oh. My. God. They really went for it, eh?

J'adore comments

xox


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